Changeling
by Estella May
Summary: Two years after the fact, Amy Benson reveals what happened in that cave with Tom Riddle.


Author's Note/Disclaimer: Written for the "request challenge." My prompt was "beauty, loss, blood."

Just a small warning - don't read this if you're easily squicked.

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Changeling

My name is Amy B. I am eleven years old, and I have lived here at the Home for the past six years. I can hardly remember my Mum anymore, though that is not surprising. My memory isn't very good. There are a few things that are clear as a bell, but most look as if they're covered by mist, seemingly there and yet not there. And there are still other things that make my head hurt as if pierced by needles when I think about them. But I do know that she has curly yellow hair and blue eyes, just like me, or at least she did six years ago. I wonder sometimes about what she must look like now. I think she must have been very pretty too, since the adults here are always calling me such a pretty child with that sad, pitying look in their eyes. This always confuses me, but Tom says it's because they're jealous. Tom knows everything, so I guess it must be true. He's so terribly clever. In fact, he's twice as clever as any other boy in the Home, and there is nothing he cannot do. And he's so very beautiful too, like the princes in those books that I love. They don't let me read them anymore though, and all because I called Mrs. Cole an ugly hag. But it's true. She is an ugly hag, and all the children and adults in the Home are her spies. I should know, since I once was one.

I am nine when it begins. Mrs. Cole asks me into her office one day. I am afraid, but no one in the Home can disobey a summons from the matron. Her office is sparse, and one can smell a whiff of something strong in the air. She does not ask me to sit, but says directly that I have adjusted better to orphanage life than any other child at the Home. I answer that it is because there is not much in my previous life to miss, Ma'am. She smiles at me. It is a stiff, brittle smile, and she makes the well-worn observation that I am such a pretty child, with so many friends. But there are others not as fortunate as me. Look at Tom, for example. He has no friends at all. Could I try being friends with Tom, perhaps? She would see that I am well compensated, of course, though she declines to mention how. I am too afraid to decline, and she asks if I would mind occasionally giving her an update on how things are going? I quickly agree, wanting to leave as soon as possible.

I am the same age as Tom, but before that meeting, I truthfully have not thought much about him. I know that he is a bit strange and likes to keep to himself, but that is true of maybe a third of the children. Kathy has the idea that he is a changeling, and that one day his fairy nature will take over and kill us all. But she is a foolish, stupid girl, given to all sorts of ridiculous ideas. Laura whispers to me that she sees him talking to snakes at times in the courtyard at night, but I know that Laura will say anything to get attention. I spend the next week or so observing him and notice nothing out of the ordinary about his habits. He eats by himself, spends a great deal of each day reading, and doesn't say much. I wait another week before approaching him after class and asking him to help me with some sums. He merely glares at me and walks away without a word. I shrug and try again the next day, with much the same result. It is hopeless, I tell Mrs. Cole. Tom simply acts like I don't exist. She tells me that if I want to attract Tom's attention, then I must start by praising him in some way.

It works. After a hefty dose of praise on his top marks and skills with sums, Tom decides that maybe he can try to help me. He turns out to be lightning-quick with sums, hardly needing even to stop to think, and completely unable to understand why I am not just as quick. I soon drop the pretense and start asking him about all sorts of things, always implying that I value his opinion above all others. He is slow to open up, but when he does, the words come out in a torrent. He tells me about his plans to leave the orphanage as soon as he can, to put himself through school, to make something of himself. He is highly ambitious, and deservedly so. I wonder out loud if the Home can find someone kind and rich willing to sponsor a promising student through school, but he just sneers and says that he'll never accept anyone's charity. When I tell Mrs. Cole about this, she laughs and says that she'd thought as much. Orphanages, she observes, have a funny way of making a certain kind of child too suspicious, too unyielding, and too independent. When I ask if such a child would also be too independent to ever be able to have a true friend, she raises an eyebrow and sends me away.

During the next few weeks, I find myself questioning whether or not I actually want to be friends with Tom. He develops a strange jealousy of my other friends, and has no interest in talking about anything but himself. I find myself steadily being isolated until Tom is the only friend I have left. The other girls whisper behind my back, wondering what on earth I must be thinking. I start to wonder that myself. And then, one morning, I find a brown paper parcel sitting at my desk. I quickly rip it open to find a china doll that looks eerily like me, with curly yellow hair and bright blue eyes. I cry out in joy, for it is the most beautiful thing I have ever set eyes on. The other girls are dying of jealousy, asking any and all who would give me such a magnificent gift. Tom says nothing, but I can tell that he is wondering the same. Only I know, and I would never tell a soul.

I name the doll Emily, and she is the most precious thing in the world to me. But gaining the doll has done nothing to win back my insanely jealous friends, though it has very much lessened my willingness to talk to Tom. For a while, I am oblivious to everything but my beautiful doll. I do not hear when the whispers around me grow fearful, nor see when small animals start turning up dead in and around the orphanage. Billy's pet rabbit shows up dead one morning, hanged by its neck. A few of the girls near me find dead mice in their beds. Eventually the adults decide that it's best for the general mood if we move our trip to the seaside up. I throw a tantrum when I am told not to bring Emily along. But that is all for naught, for the day before we are to go, she disappears.

There seems to be a general sense of amusement amongst everyone in the Home. I see the other girls' gloating smiles. I see the adults' satisfied faces. And I see Tom watching me closely, expectantly, as if he thinks I will come and beg for his sympathy. My heart freezes, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing me upset.

The sea breeze does nothing to improve my mood, and I find myself walking along a stretch of cliff side, watching the waves die in sprays of white foam below. I think for a while about all that I have lost, and am not surprised to find that I miss my doll more than my mother. I wrap my thin coat around me, shivering. It is bitterly cold.

Someone calls my name. I turn and see Dennis coming towards me, tripping now and then on the rocks. He is breathing heavily, but his face is pale white. When he speaks, his voice is flat. He has news about my doll, he says. Will I go with him?

Tom always says that the eyes are the windows into one's soul. Dennis's eyes are dead. It should frighten me, but I am so eager for news about Emily that I follow him without questions. He leads me to a small path that winds down the cliff side. We are out of sight of anyone else from the orphanage, and I wonder where he is leading me.

The path ends at the black opening of a cave. I am finally frightened enough to turn back, but he grabs my arm and begins pulling me in. I scream but nobody seems to hear. I trip and cut my knee on jagged rocks while he drags me inside. Dennis is a kind, gentle boy. Why is he doing this?

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see a large cavern encircling a vast lake, dimly lit with the pale blue light of day. Dennis is still holding my arms. I struggle, and come face to face with Tom.

He is smiling. I have never before seen him smile. It looks strange, like it damages rather than enhances his natural beauty. Amy, he says. My friend. You've been avoiding me, and I want to know why. Does it have anything to do with that doll? No? You're lying to me, Amy. I won't stand for that, you know. Friends don't lie to each other.

He comes forward a few steps and looks me in the eyes. The snakes told me that I could do this, he says, not breaking eye contact. I didn't believe them at first. But then I tried it on a few rats, a rabbit, a cat, and now Dennis here. I suppose you're the next step up. You think I'm crazy, don't you? Do not lie to me. I can see it in your eyes. Well, I don't like it. I don't want to see anything from you but total... complete... obedience.

I feel overwhelmed by a total sense of... peace. I can hardly even feel the stinging pain in my knee. I can hardly feel anything. Dennis lets go of my arms and we stand there like a row of little toy soldiers, waiting for a command. Tom smiles even wider as he leans against the cavern wall and observes us.

I can hear him in my mind. Now Amy, he whispers to me, I'm going to ask you once again. Why have you been avoiding me?

His smile quickly disappears as I tell him the entire story.

I drop to my knees as I suddenly feel a thousand pinpricks on my brain, unable to cry out for he has not commanded me to. Through it all, I can still hear his voice in my head. You deserve this pain, Amy. You know that, don't you?

Yes, Tom. I deserve this. I still do. And all I have to do to bring back the pain that I deserve is to think about what I have done. I think about it often, and I do what I can to make up for what I have done. When I see a child with something that he or she should not have, I bring it to him. When I hear children or adults speaking things of Tom that no one should, I bring him their names. If he makes me do other things, I do not remember them.

But one day I will be allowed to fully regain his trust. On that day, he tells me, I will wash away my sins in an ugly hag's blood. I look forward to that day.


End file.
